


The Cargo Ship Enterprise

by ffrindyddraig



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Space Pirates, Alternate Universe - War, Bad Science, Canon-Typical Violence, Communism, Federation/Romulan War, Hidden Pasts, Medical Inaccuracies, Mind melds, Multi, Secrets, Swearing, Tarsus IV, Vulcan Inaccuracies, Weapons, mention of past prostitution, powers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2019-08-23 19:31:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16625084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ffrindyddraig/pseuds/ffrindyddraig
Summary: Jim held out his hand, and the Doctor took it desperately. His hand was steady, even covered with his new Captain's blood. "You've got yourself a deal. I'm Captain James T. Kirk of the cargo vessel Enterprise, the finest goods transport in the galaxy."Captain James T. Kirk brings a new Doctor on board, the crew's secrets start coming out, and the Federation-Romulan war suddenly seems a lot closer than it ever did before.





	1. A Stabbing, A Doctor And A Pissed Off Vulcan

**Author's Note:**

> The Federation-Romulan in this story started at the same time as the Earth-Romulan war in canon, but instead of it ending after four years, it carries on (Archer messes up the Peace Negotiations - I like to think it's because he kept bringing Porthos along). This story is set in this future, where the Federation is still fighting them. Kirk did not join star fleet and instead owns a cargo ship.
> 
> I tried not to stray too far from the Federation in TOS, however, due to the fact it's from the point of view of criminals and the war going on, it is going to seem a lot darker than the one we know and love. 
> 
> While I'm writing this with TOS characters in mind, I guess you can read it with the AOS in mind as well.
> 
> Also this holds my head cannon that the Russia Chekov is always talking about is actually a planet and not the Russia on Earth.
> 
> I do not own star trek or any characters, I'm just playing with them.

As the fist connected with James T. Kirk's nose with a sickening crunch, the face of his First Officer, Mister Spock, eyebrow raised in an 'I told you so' manner, flashed across his mind's eye.

The half-man, half-Vulcan had warned him against going onto a Federation planet for anything other than business, especially if he was going to get intoxicated. Jim had shrugged him off. His logic, he explained with a cheeky grin, that was when trouble inevitably found him - and, Mister Spock, we both know it is inevitable - he would rather it was away from his precious ship. His First Officer had only muttered - well, stated loud enough for all around to hear - how Humans seemed unable to grasp the concept of logic. Spock had not given the same warning to the rest of the crew, and Jim had joked that he did not know if he should be offended or touched. If asked, the half alien would insist it was because the rest of the crew knew how to stay out of a fight. But Jim would not believe him; Spock cared about him more than the others. It was only logical after all, he was the Captain and an old friend.

The face faded as he stumbled backwards, spewing out colourful language, his hands going up to cover his nose. Probably broken. Bastards. He crashed into a table, causing the drinks to rattle and the occupants to jump out the way with loud complaints. He could feel liquid soak into his shirt.

He took a second to catch his breath, pulling his hands away from his face. The sight of bright red blood on his fingers made him grin. That smile had caused grown men to turn into crying babies at his feet. They made him bleed, it was only fair to return in kind. He leaped back into the fight.

With his adrenaline surging he barely felt the punches that hit him. He got a couple of his own hits in: kick to the knee, causing it to buckle and the man to fall to the floor; punch to the kidney, followed by a right hook. But, to Jim, it felt like the whole bar was against him, and as good as a fighter he was, he could not defeat the sheer numbers, though he sure as hell was going to try.

Then a barstool came down on his head.

He was on the floor. Blood was trickling down his face, rolling into his eye. Even with his brain whirling to figure out what was going on, it took a good ten seconds for him to realise he must of fallen down. There was a dull throbbing in his head. A wave of nausea crashed over him. He swallowed, and he could feel his Adam's apple bob painfully, trying to keep the content of his stomach off the dirty, stained bar floor. Just as he managed to get his bearings, his mind screaming at him to _GET UP AND FIGHT MAN!_ , the world titled once again as he was roughly pulled up by his arms. This time he did throw up, the watery sick hitting his black boots. The men either side laughed.

It was only pure stubbornness that allowed him to lift his head up. His vision swung around the edges, but he still managed to lock eyes with the leader - the one he started this fight with. He sent all his hate and anger though that link. The man just snarled, his already ugly face turning even grimmer. Jim struggled against his captors, but he was too weak, and their grip was iron.

He was trapped.

The leader stepped forward and the dim light glinted off the knife clasped in his hand. Jim recognised it as Klingon, the kind used in rituals. Must be stolen. That information could not help him. He struggled again, more desperate as the leader advanced. He did not stop in till Jim could feel the man's alcohol stained breath on his face.

"Gentlemen," Jim tried to reason, a weak smile on his face. "Maybe we can talk about this. No need to do anything hasty."

The leader laughed, sending shivers up Jim's spine. "Hasty like this?"

The knife was plunged into his gut.

The next minute (hours?) were lost in a sea of pain. A too fast _boom-boom-boom_ which pumped in his ears, eyes, mind told him he was still alive. He heard barks that didn't form into words. He struggled, weakly, refusing to believe the fight was lost. But it didn't even cause a pause in them dragging him outside. Tossing him on the floor like he was a piece of trash.

He lay there, his unfocused eyes looking at the wall across the alley. Concrete, grey. He always imagined he would die looking at the stars. In a daze he poked his wound, hissing as the pain increased. So much blood, over his shirt, hands, floor. Was it too much blood? He kept expecting Spock's face to come into view. His First Officer was meant to save him. He had every other time. He tried to find his communicator, but his hands were too heavy, like they had been turned into lead. His eye sight was slowly fizzing out. Grey and red into black.

He tried to grasp what he was meant to do in this situation, but his thoughts were thick and slow and refused to stick. Something about pressure or calling or awake. He tried to remember why he was fighting it. The black. The promise of no more pain or crying or starving. It promised comfort. Jim could barely remember that word.

 _Human's need obstacles to overcome to survive_ , a voice mocked him. His Father's voice. He'd always lived by that, even as he grew older and learnt it was the ramblings off a half-starved man, more to convince himself than comfort his children. Well, Jim was fed up of his path being blocked. He realised what a liar his Father was.

Warmth in his gut. It was not like fire, but rather a warm bath that you had submerged yourself in. Spreading. He tried to focus on it. Was this death? No. With each moment he could feel himself get stronger, his thoughts more clear.

He opened his eyes. Easier than he had been expecting, harder than it should of been. His vision was still blurred, ("Idiot's got a damn concussion"), but he tried to focus on what was in front of him. Only it didn't make any sense.

A skull. Small, with hollow black eyes that bore into him. A bird, maybe. No body, just floating there. Kirk tried to reach out for it, but his traitorous hand only twitched on the cold floor. Later he would be grateful his body stopped him making a fool of himself.

"W-who?" He slurred. The skull moved, floating upwards, and a face replaced it. Eyebrows pulled together, lips in a thin line. His hands came up, forward. Jim tried to move away but couldn't. They slapped him on the cheek, quickly. It seemed to knock a couple of his screws back into place, and he finally worked it out.

The skull was on a hat. A stupid ridiculous cow boy hat that belonged in a old time flick that some concerned stranger was wearing. A stranger. Not a member of his crew. That meant -

Oh _shit._

He tried to sit up but the same hands stopped him, keeping him down forcefully.

"What the hell do you think you're doin'? You're going to rip open your wound!" The man growled, but when Jim looked back at him, there was not anger in his gaze, just concern. Jim allowed him to hold him in place, satisfied by the small amount he had seen. He was still in the alley, no flashing lights announcing the police or an ambulance, and the man fixing him up didn't seem like any licensed - or for that matter, _un_ licensed - Doctor he had ever seen. It might of been the scowl that looked permanently etched onto his face or that he smelt like he'd never even heard of a shower, let alone had one before. But he was a good one. The pain in his gut and nose had faded completely. Even regenerators left a slight after sting. Now if only the man could fix his pounding head... He said as much and the man snorted.

"I'm getting to it, you impatient, ungrateful - "

"Is insulting your patients apart of the medical handbook?" Jim asked, cutting the man off. His grin was returned with a glare, and another shooting pain through his head.

"It is in mine." His accent was clearly Earth American Southern, but Jim could not place it any clearer than that. It seemed to be getting stronger the more annoyed he was. Jim wondered how he ended up here.

"What's your name?" The man chose to ignore his question, and Jim narrowed his eyes into slits. Before he could start demanding answers the man lifted his hands up to his face again. Jim immediately tensed, but instead of more slaps, the man just placed them either side of his face, angling it up so they were looking into each other's eyes. Jim found himself locked into place under those bright blue stare.

"Should be kickin' in about now." He grumbled, the deep lines in his face from concern aging him prematurely. It made Jim want to trust him. A man who could feel such compassion for a stranger he had never met before could surely not be all bad. He doubted it was an act: if the man had any malicious intentions surely he would of restrained him before giving him the strength to fight back? He could hear Spock's voice in his mind saying it would be unwise to follow his gut instincts.

Just as Jim was going to say nothing was happening, he felt a slight warm tingling in his temples, the same as he felt with his stab wound, and the cobwebs that laced his brain began to dissolve. He must of given Jim something while he was out. It left him feeling uneasy. Who knows what he had been shot full of. To let himself get into such a state was, to quote his First Officer, illogical.

The man leant away, removing his hands. A slight smile on his face told Jim the man had succeeded. But in curing him, or something else?

Jim pulled himself up the wall into sitting position and this time he was not stopped. He took a proper look at the man. He was quite thin, and looked harmless. Jim had no doubt he could push past him and escape from the alley. Satisfied he had a backup plan, he looked down at his shirt, noting the dying blood that painted it. He'd always liked this outfit - he hoped Uhura's magic washing power would work on it. Through the hole, he could see no wound. It was like it was never there. Jim did not think that medical science had managed that yet. He turned to his... doctor, eyes narrowed.

"Well, what do you want?" No point beating around the bush. And who could really hold his shortness against him? Less than five minutes ago he nearly crossed the line of life and death.

The man glared, but his answer was as direct as his. "I need transport. I was told you could supply it."

"And if I can't?" He wondered if the other man knew this was a test. From the way the man did not even pause before he replied told Jim he didn't care either way.

"Then I'll be on my way. Somebody has got to be able to get me of this damn rock." His eyes flicked upwards to the sky as he said it, like his glare alone would be able to produce a ship above them and beam him up. The sky above the alley, unsurprisingly, stayed clear.

"You a Doctor?"

The man raised an eyebrow, making Jim feel like an idiot. "I saved your life, didn't I?"

Jim didn't point out he avoided the question. It seemed to be a habit of his. That was OK, given enough time Jim could draw blood from a stone, or the equally impossible task of raising a smile from a Vulcan. "Good. I need one of those. Hospitals are a risky business, and there are some things your basic first aid kit just doesn't cover."

Spock had said it would be risky and leave them open to attack if they advertised their need for a new Doctor openly. Well, not only had it worked, but it had saved his life. Jim could not wait to rub this into his First Officer's face. Of course, knowing Spock as well as he did, he knew the Vulcan would focus on the whole lying half dead in the alley way part. Meeting Spock had taught Jim that the one emotion Vulcan's had was fretting like a mother hen. They would deny it, of course, but it was the worst kept secret in the galaxy.

Jim held out his hand, and the Doctor took it desperately. His hand was steady, even covered with his new Captain's blood. "You've got yourself a deal. I'm Captain James T. Kirk of the cargo vessel _Enterprise_ , the finest goods transport in the galaxy."

"I know." The man said, and Jim sighed.

"This is the part where you tell me your name." The man said nothing. Getting a Vulcan to smile may of actually been easier than this. "Or should I just call you Doctor? Sawbones?"

"Sawbones?" The man muttered, his nose wrinkling up in disgust. Jim grinned.

"You're right - too clunky. Maybe - yes - Bones."

The man frowned. "Doctor will do just fine." He said shortly, standing up. Bones it was then. Jim followed. The lack of blood caused him to feel lightheaded, and his vision began to blacken around the edges. It was only the Doctor's hands holding him that kept him upright.

Then, suddenly, they were gone. Jim fell heavily against the brick wall, blinking rapidly to clear his vision. He was lucky he hadn't passed out. His hands tried to find a weapon, trying to think who - or what - could of attacked Bones, only to stop as warm hands touched his face. He would recognise them anywhere.

"Spock." He breathed out, and as his vision slowly cleared he saw a pair of deep brown eyes looking at him. To any other human, they would only see cold, hard logic but Jim could see the worry and concern stirring in their depth.

"You were hurt." Spock stated, pulling up Jim's shirt and looking at his blood covered stomach. "Impossible. There is no sign of an injury."

"Bones fixed me up."

The First Officer raised an eyebrow, clearly thinking Jim had gone delirious with pain. "Bones?"

Jim looked past Spock's shoulder - a hard task seeing as the man was physically protecting him with his body from a danger that was not there. Bones was on one knee on the other side of the alley, his eyes never leaving Spock's form. The Vulcan had obviously pushed the man away quite harshly. With the species superior strength, it was likely the other man was hurt, though he was not showing it. For the first time, Spock's ability to come in and save his ass may have not actually been an advantage.

"Let me make introductions." Jim said, stepping around Spock to show both men there was no danger. He was surprised at how steady he was. Damn, Bones was _good_. He hoped the man would forgive being thrown across a alley, they needed a doctor as good as him. "Spock, this is Bones. Bones this is - "

" - A Romulan." Bones spat out, his voice a hiss that hardly sounded human.

Jim was not surprised at the man's hatred for Romulans - the Federation had been at war with them for over a century, it would be more surprising if the man did like them. No, what surprised Jim was the fact Bones jumped to that conclusion, rather than the much more likely Vulcan one. He thought of enemies instead of allies. Was he an ex-soldier perhaps? Very few survived the war, it seemed strange he would be out in the prime of his fitness, and skills they clearly needed on the front lines. Maybe he had run away. But Bones just didn't strike him as a coward.

Spock stood up straighter, not a bend in his spine. Clearly, he did not like being mistaken for his distant cousin. His eyebrow was raised in a manner that said _you Humans never fail to amaze me with your stupidity._ Jim had been on the receiving end of that one a lot.

"Spock." Jim carried on smoothly. "My _Vulcan_ first officer."

Bones snorted. "Bullshit."

Spock's eyebrow raised further, giving the impression it was attempting to escape from his face. "I am a Vulcan."

Bones raised his own eyebrow in response. A similar gesture to that of his First Officer's, yet completely different. Spock's held cool curiosity, while Bones' said he was about to explode.

"That's exactly what a Romulan would say!" He accused.

"It is also exactly what a non-Romulan would say."

Bones' frown grew, and Jim, who had been watching this exchange with amusement, decided to step in before someone got hurt, most likely the strange Doctor. Though he did seem to fair quite well in round one. "Now we have finished getting to know each other - "

" - I feel like I already know him too damn well already - "

" - shall we go back to the ship?"

Spock turned to the Captain, arms crossed over his chest. "You are bringing him back with us?" Even a passerby would be able to hear the disbelief in the Vulcan's voice. Clearly he had not taken being called a Romulan well at all.

"The _Enterprise_ needs a Doctor." Jim pointed out.

Spock's eyebrows drew together. "I believe bringing... the Doctor along would be... unwise."

A smile fought its way onto the Captain's face. "Why, Mister Spock, it sounds like your feelings have been hurt." He could not help but tease the alien. It had taken Jim years to make the alien have an emotional response, Bones had seemed to of done it in a matter of minutes. For some reason Jim found that irksome. He was, after all, the person who knew Spock best.

"Vulcan's do not have feelings, Captain. I am simply stating bringing a man on to the ship with no knowledge of his past or skills is highly illogical."

"Now listen here, you overgrown elf!" Bones all but shouted, his face going red. Jim could not help but snigger at the 'overgrown elf' comment, which caused his First Officer to glare at him. The Doctor stalked forward, but made sure he was still arms length away from said elf. "If I didn't have any skills your Captain would be lying dead in a pool of his own blood and there wouldn't be nothing you could do to help him! I think I've proven myself just fine, thank you very much."

Spock seemed to absorb that speech. "Perhaps I would believe you if you could speak Standard properly, _Doctor_. Med school would expect you to be able to follow basic grammar rules and avoid double negatives."

Spock was getting petty. Jim had never seen that before.

"Bones has proven himself, Spock. Best Doctor I've ever had. Pretty sure I won't even scar. So how about you settle this little disagreement on the ship?" He put on his command voice, so Spock would know it was an order.

"I would like to state on the record that this is a bad idea."

Jim rolled his eyes. "If this goes up shit creek, you have my permission to say 'I told you so'. Now, may we go?"

He began to move before Spock could give an answer, and the other two followed silently. As they stepped out of the alley, Bones pulled his cowboy hat low, his face disappearing into the shadows.

Jim wondered if this was one of his better ideas. He was known for taking risks, but so far they had (mostly) turned out well. At the end of the day (nearly) everyone survived (though often injured) and while they didn't always get paid it was always damn fun. But Jim was also aware of how quickly it could fall through. As a Captain he was responsible for his crew. They were family, and each member brought his or her own risks.

Spock was his voice of reason. Bringing a man aboard with no idea of his past, and only knowing him for five minutes, was unwise. But under somewhat similar conditions had Scotty come aboard, and now Jim had the damn best engineer in the galaxy. And Bones had saved his life. You couldn't just walk away from a man who had done that.

No one bated an eyelid at the three men as they walked, even with the blood covering him and Bones. Port towns, even Federation ones, had a general rule of minding your own damn business. With so many people flooding in and out constantly, never staying more than a day or two, a week max, it was easier to ignore problems until they sailed away.

As they got closer to the port, the crowd thickened. Jim strolled purposefully, his head held high, and the crowd parted for him like Moses and the red sea. He doubted the United Earth's President could do better.

"So, _Doctor_ , how long are you going to be staying?" Only Spock could make a title sound like an insult. Jim bite back the retort of 'play nice'. They were going to have to live together in close quarters, it would be better if they managed to get it all out now.

"Until I find somewhere to rest my weary bones."

While Jim was strolling in front and could not see them, he could feel the Vulcan's eyebrow raise. "Could you be more specific?" Clearly the man wanted to plot a course and drop the man off before he became a constant presence. Of course, Spock would put it under the pretence of business and this whole thing being a coincidence.

"I'm thinking a beach planet, nothing too fancy, just lots of beautiful woman who are very happy to please. A simple life, y'know?"

"How dull." Jim called back. "I'll be bored in a day, even with those beautiful women."

"Well, I've had enough excitement in my life, Captain." The title sounded foreign and clumsy in the man's mouth.

They finally reached Jim's ship. He thought the _Enterprise_ was the finest ship in the galaxy. His pride and joy. The only woman to steal his heart and keep it. He spent hours making sure she was fine tuned and looking beautiful. Bones' first thought when he saw it was it looked like a death trap. Luckily, he had the sense not to mention this.

"Welcome, Doctor, to your home in till we find you that pleasant beach planet." He pressed a button on the outside of the ship, and with a hiss the cargo bay doors lowered, slowly revealing a room crammed from floor to ceiling full of boxes.

"Looks like all my cargo's in place." Jim grinned, strolling up the ramp. He felt tension he wasn't even aware he'd been carrying lift away as his feet touched the cool metal. This was the one place he belonged. Behind him, the newest member of the crew was more hesitant, after all, once they were in space there would be no going back. He took a deep breath, before stepping on. With Spock and him inside, the ramp lifted back up again, locking them in.

Jim made a beeline for the comm., something made harder by the crates everywhere. Whoever had placed them - most likely Sulu - had been considerate enough to leave walkways, but they were thin, and not exactly straight.  

"Sulu." Jim called as he hit the speaker button with his fist. After a moment of static, the accented voice of his pilot replied.

"Sulu here."

"Are we ready for launch?" He asked, well aware the answer could be no. They were scheduled to stay here for another day so they could check that the cargo was all in good order, however with the new member, Jim thought it would be best if they set off now. His crew, however, did not let him down.

"We are always ready for launch." Sulu told him, and Jim could imagine the grin on the man's face. If there was one person who loved space more than him, it would be his pilot.

"OK, Sulu start - "

"Captain." Jim blinked as he was cut off mid order. He recognised that voice, but he couldn't quite believe it. It was from their youngest crew member: Chekov. Originally he was from the United Communist State (the inhabitants called it Russia, though the Federation had refused to acknowledge this name, claiming it caused confusion), and his upbringing there meant if Jim asked him to jump the boy would ask how high. If Chekov was interrupting a call that meant... well it meant he had more balls than they gave him credit for. "I thought we were staying on this planet for couple more day."

"Plans have changed." He said, shortly. His voice left no room for arguments.

"But Captain - "

"Chekov, are you questioning me?"

Jim wanted - _needed_ \- loyalty off his crew, but at the same time he liked them to have some fight. He didn't want to be able to lead them blindly off a cliff. For Chekov to have finally caught some of their spirit would certainly be exciting, and Jim was interested in this new devolvement. He wondered what made the boy speak up now. But the Russian was too trapped in his ways.

"No Sir. We will be ready to head out in ten minute."

"Good. Kirk out." He removed his hand from the speaker button, and turned back to his companions, who were glaring at each other. Well, Bones was glaring, and Spock was doing his Vulcan equivalent which was coldly staring with his eyebrow raised. If they were not going to get along, Jim hoped they had the sense to stay out of the other's way.

"Bones, shall I show you around the ship?"

"As long as this green bloodied, pointy eared, not Romulan doesn't come."

The Vulcan nearly sighed. Jim had never seen the man so close to being exasperated, and that said something seeing as Jim was his captain. "As the First Officer of this vessel, I will know where your quarters are located."

"I don't care if you know where they are - I'm just fed up of your face."

Jim coughed back a laugh. "Spock, go to the bridge or something while I show the good Doctor around."

His First Officer shot him a look that clearly said traitor, before spinning on his heel and stalking off. Jim knew he had his work cut out for him. He put on his best host smile, using his arm to motion forward.

"Now if you'll follow me..."


	2. Mudaki, Corbomite, And One Minute and Seven Seconds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes about the universe I forgot to mention in the first chapter.  
> In this world, the Federation knows what Romulans look like. I feel like after a couple of decades of fighting, you would at least be able to hack into their communication signal like Spock did in about five minutes in Balance of Terror and know what they look like.  
> Also, Romulan's are also telepathic, like Vulcan's, even though in cannon, while never stated, it seems they lost it somewhere along the way.

Sulu was born to fly. Or fight. He didn't know which one he loved more, and he wasn't sure he ever would. With a wheel under his hand, or a sword pressed into it, he was happy and free. If he had been born a couple of centuries ago, he would of joined the Air Force. Fighter pilot had a nice ring to it.

Sometimes he thinks about Starfleet. As a kid, it had been his plan. Him and Nyota had this crazy idea of running away and enlisting together. It hadn't happened, of course. They would get in, but only at the cannon fodder level. The type killed five minutes in, and they wouldn't even be remembered by their crew mates. To join the Academy - to get a proper education - you had to have money, and connections, and not of grown up on a whore ship. The Federation talked about equal opportunity for everyone, but it never seemed to stretch much further than the main planets.

Earth. Vulcan. Andoria.

Sulu had visited them all. Paradise. He wondered why his grandparents left. Maybe they too had that buzz that screamed at them to fly.

It was due to his upbringing, Sulu had decided a long time ago, that made him uncomfortable going planet side. Two days was the longest he'd ever gone off ship before going insane. He needed walls around him, and the vibrations of metal below him. Home had to have a propulsion system and a wheel.

So when Kirk's voice came through the intercom announcing he wanted to be off the planet in ten minutes, he was glad. He forgot not everyone felt the same way.

After the comm. link shut off, Sulu began warming up the engine, feeling more and more relaxed with each light that flicked on. He'd already been on the bridge when the order came through - a sigh of how desperate he was to leave. Chekov, his best friend (or at least his best friend that wasn't his sister), was in his room, and it had taken him a minute to get to the bridge. Sulu had been more than surprised to hear him on the comm. That was the first time he'd ever heard the boy question orders. Even from him or Nyota, who were technically at the same grunt level as him, even though they had served on the ship for longer. Really, the only person at this level you should obey was Scotty, and that was only because if you didn't something was likely to blow up.

"You had plans?" Sulu asked as the boy hurried in, a scowl on his face. He had expected the boy to be dressed in night out wear, but the clothes were his usual farm boy casual. Sulu still put a suggestive grin on his face, raising one of his eyebrows. The legal age was eighteen, but in a port town nobody cared.

"Nyet." Chekov grumbled, collapsing onto his chair. Angrily he stabbed at the navigational buttons.

" _Right._ " He drew out the word just enough that there would be no language confusion, and the Russian next to him would be able to tell he didn't believe him.

Chekov stopped stabbing, swinging his chair around so he could look the other man in the eye. "Captain said we would have day! I could use day! Just get supplies on board, he said, then it is shore leave. Of course, he goes to bar as we work our asses off and boom!" He clapped his hands together as he said it, illustrating his point. "We are probably not allowed back on planet again!"

"It is a shitty planet." Sulu pointed out. "It's not like you're missing out."

"That is not point." Chekov muttered.

Sulu flicked the last switch and the engine roared to life. Literally. That was new. A shudder that ran though the ship accompanied it.

"Hey Scotty." Sulu called down the comm. unit. A series of loud curses told him the man he wanted was on the other end. "If I take her out, will she make it?"

"Aye lad, she's fi-" The Scot was cut off by the sound of something exploding and more expletives were yelled down the line. "Hold on that Mister Sulu till I've put this fire out."

"Holding." Sulu said, rolling his eyes at the navigator. Honestly, every time they tried to leave a planet, the ship threatened to kill them all. Sulu was beginning to think their engineer was just making up problems to keep himself in a job. The man did like to exaggerate, and the drunker the man was, the more wilder and out of control everything was. If he hadn't seen the man's work in a real crisis first hand, Sulu would think he was not, as the man proudly claimed to be, 'the best engineer in the whole bloody universe'.

"So," Sulu said, easily picking up the conversation from before, "What is the point?"

"What is what point?" The boy asked in fake confusion.

"About the Captain making us leave early. You have no plans, it's a shitty planet, so what's the big deal?"

Chekov huffed. "It is not fair."

Sulu laughed. "Stop me if you've heard this before, but life isn't fair."

"It is in Russia." Chekov muttered into his console, and Sulu was pretty sure he wasn't meant to have heard it.

Nationalism was instilled in children on the United Communist State. Nyota, his guide to all things alien, explained for their system to work, everyone had to play along. If someone rebelled it had to be squashed. You grew up believing that just one selfish act from one person could cause the system to collapse. Strong yet weak. It was rare for a Russian to be off planet, even rarer for them not to be a deserter. In fact, Chekov was the only case he - and by he, Sulu meant Nyota - knew of.

"So, why did you leave paradise?"

"It is... complicated."

Sulu raised an eyebrow. That evasive answer was the most anyone had ever got from the boy. Spock, of course, knew, but that Vulcan kept it to himself. Sulu leant forward on his chair, ready to pounce and see if any of his claws would stick this time. Of course, at that moment the comm. crackled back into life.

"OK, lad, ye're safe, but I dunnae know how long I can hold it for."

The moment was lost (but not forgotten). Sulu turned to the controls, increasing the power to the engines.

"Blast off!" He called down the system, hearing his own voice echo back through the speakers.

The whole ship let out one last shudder, before slowly lifting off the floor. Their ascent started slow, like someone waking up in the morning. Only clouds were ahead, but Sulu kept a keen eye on the sensor read outs, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. Then they broke though that layer with one last shake of turbulence.    

All Sulu could see was black. His home. He wouldn't feel completely at ease, though, until they were out the atmosphere and past the third planet. The stars twinkled. Many of the crew claimed the stars were in the wrong place, but to Sulu they were always moving, always free.

Chekov leaned forward onto his console, pointing to a tiny flicker of light on the view screen that was a furiously burning star, over a million light years away. "This is Russia."

He said it with a little grin on his face, making his youthful appearance even younger. Every time they left a planet, Chekov would pick a random star from the sky and claim it was the one his home planet orbited.

"I doubt it." Sulu replied, as he always did, his own smile on his face. Chekov nodded seriously.

"It is. I am navigator - I would know."

Sulu rolled his eyes. He leant back into his hard seat, guiding the ship through the black. While the proximity sensors were on, and they would be warned by shrieking sirens with plenty of time to spare if something was in their way, Chekov kept his eyes locked to the sensor screen too. They were nearly out far enough to warp.

"You always see Russia."

The boy shrugged, unashamed. "Well, you know what they say : all roads lead to Russia."

"Rome. All roads lead to Rome."

Chekov shook his head, a frown on his face. "Nyet. I am sure it is Russia."

Sulu rolled his eyes on last time. He liked this routine; to him it was just as important as the buttons he had to press and the lights he had to switch on. He flicked on the line to Engineering. "Scotty, we ready to go into warp?"

"Aye. Anytime you - "

A loud, high pitched buzz cut through the air. Sulu winced away. Chekov's hands came up to cover his ears, but the pilot's never left the wheel. It faded away slowly, and the men shared a look. They knew what that was. Sure enough, the speakers began to project a stern voice.

"This is Captain Pike of the U.S.S. Enterprise - "

"Those _mudakí_ stole our name!" Chekov hissed venomously. While Sulu did not know what that word meant, he knew it was not positive. He made a note to ask Nyota of its direct translation later, and hoped there were no Russians - real Russians from Earth, that was - on the enemy ship. The last thing they needed was to start the battle due to insults. Sulu hit the boy's shoulder, telling him to shut up, and getting a glare in return.

"- please stop and acknowledge this message. I repeat : this is -"

The Captain slid into the room, looked angry. Another man followed him. Not Spock, like Sulu had expected, but a stranger in a cowboy hat, looking worried. He didn't look physically threatening, skinny and slightly hunched over. Sulu noted he could easily take him down if the situation required it  and turned back to the Captain.

"Should I go into warp, sir?" He asked. Kirk shook his head.

"Negative. Let's see if we can resolve this without shots being fired. I've only just redone the paintwork."

"Captain Pike is not one for reasoning." The cool voice of the First Officer rang out across the room as he strolled in, Vulcan robes swishing. He took his usual place behind the Captain's chair, hands clutched behind him.

"An old colleague, Mister Spock?" He asked. Spock's back straightened, a sign of annoyance (that he would, of course, deny) he often got when someone mentioned his Star Fleet days.

"Indeed."

"Well, he hasn't reasoned with me yet." Spock didn't roll his eyes only because he was Vulcan. Sulu did it for him, before adding his own :

"We're screwed."

Kirk's diplomacy was well known throughout the galaxy: if at first they don't agree, maybe punching them will change their minds. The Captain sighed, shaking his head at them.

"Insubordinate, all of you. Now where's Uhura to turn that damn fed off?"

She choose that moment to glide into the room. Beautiful did not even begin to cover her. Even just walking to the communication station she held every man's gaze in the room - expect, of course, Spock's. Sulu had been raised with her, a sister in everything but blood, but even he was not completely immune. However he had an easier time of it than Chekov  who was still too green and had more than enough teenage hormones screaming around his body, and the stranger who was completely and utterly unprepared. Sulu watched the new man take in every inch of her, from her smooth mile long legs to her perfect face. He licked his lips, not as a wolf seeing his prey, but rather a man who had seen something he knew he could not have. While Nyota could more than handle herself, Sulu was glad he would not have to injure the man.

With one of her long, delicate fingers she switched off the Fed's voice. "Done, Captain." She said, flashing a smile. It had been described as the first light of Spring after a long, hard Winter. The strangers involuntary step back seemed to confirm that statement. "You know, you could learn how to use this system yourself."

"And deny us the pleasure of seeing you? The crew would mutiny!" Kirk declared, and Chekov nodded his head in agreement.

Nyota laughed, voice like a bell. "Should I open a channel?"

Kirk nodded, falling onto the Captain's chair. Sulu had found it in a junk heap and Scotty had bolted it down as a present for the man. No bridge is complete without a Captain's chair, whatever the designers of this cargo ship thought. Spock's hand moved up, so it was resting on the back, millimetres away from the Captain's shoulder. The stranger sulked out of camera range, his cowboy hat slipping lower.

"Make sure Scotty's ready to take us to warp in a moment's notice. Open channel."

The view screen filled with a man's face. Middle aged, though the years of being a Captain on a Star Fleet vessel aging him prematurely, his hair more salt than pepper, and the bags under his eyes more obvious than he hoped. He had the air of a military man, his gaze hard and steady. Kirk did not back down.

"Unidentified vessel, you have been given an order to stop." The man barked. "Comply or I will fire."

"Fire?" Kirk's voice was heavy with disbelief. "On us? What could we possible do to of warranted such drastic measures?

Once they were out of this mess, Sulu was sure the First Officer would chastise the Captain for laying it on so thick.

"Send over a flight plan and your shipping license, and I'm sure we will part ways without coming to those  _drastic measures_." Captain Pike's voice was thick with dry amusement.

Chekov turned around on his chair. "Captain, under rule one-seven-three-nine of the Federation Free Shipping Agreement, a wessel does not need to hand over any documents unless-"

"- Unless they are under legitimate suspicion of wrong doings." Kirk finished for him, leaning forward in his chair so he was closer to the view screen. His eyes bore into that of the other captain. He held it, eyes just as hard. Another Captain may of stood down under that gaze, but those in the Fleet were made of stronger stuff.

"It may of slipped your mind,  _Captain_ ," that word was said with no respect; Sulu felt his hands tighten in anger around his wheel, "but in your hurry to leave the surface, you seemed to have forgotten to get clearance. You should be more careful, a war is going on."

Kirk snorted, waving his hand dismissively. "We're light years away from any disputed space. Shoot first, ask questions later will not happen this far out."

"So you are admitting to knowingly ignoring protocols?"

"I never said that." Kirk pointed out, but the face on the view screen was smug.

"Now, your flight plan and shipping license."

"Sending it over." Kirk said through gritted teeth. He motioned at Nyota, and the screen was cut off, leaving the crew staring at the outside of the ship they were up against. Bigger, faster with shields and much better weapons. In combat, or a chase, they would not stand a chance. Finally, Kirk sighed. "Well that could of gone better."

"On the contrary Captain, I found the discussion went better than expected." Spock replied.

Kirk raised an eyebrow, a look of surprise on his face. "How so, Mister Spock?"

"Usually your diplomacy gets us fired at." While Spock said it with a completely straight face and a desert dry voice, Sulu knew the man was breaking the tension in his own Vulcan way. A slight twinkle of amusement the half Vulcan could not suppress glittered in his eye.

"Well, there's still time yet." Kirk replied, his own amusement on clear display. Nobody else would be able to sass the Captain like that and get away with it. Sulu, not for the first time, wondered about their relationship. Very old friends, that much was clear. Nyota was sure they were lovers, but Sulu dismissed that straight off the bat. Captain Kirk had a type, and that type was women. Mostly young, beautiful women with humanoid bodies and lots of curves. Never had he seen Kirk so much as check out a man. To Kirk, Sulu was sure it was only strong friendship built on years of trust and companionship. Spock on the other hand...

The party line was Vulcan's did not love, but that didn't seem possible to Sulu. He was hardly a romantic, but love - and he meant all sorts of love, from the sibling love he felt for Nyota, to the friendship love that had quickly grown for Chekov to even the brief one night love he felt for whatshername on whatsthatplanet - was what made life. And even if Vulcan's were as cold and as hard as they claimed, Spock was half human. His better half, the crew would often joke, had to feel something. And Sulu would not be surprised if that something was love for James T. Kirk.

"Uhura." The Captain said, snapping Sulu out of his thoughts. The man quickly looked away, a blush creeping up onto his features. How long had he been staring at those two men? Luckily everyone had been too caught up in their current predicament to notice their helmsman. "Could you send some falsified documents?"

"Negative Sir, not ones that will stand up to Star Fleet inspection. Since you, well, since you removed our Hull and Federation Identification Number from the ship, and our broadcasting stations because of the -"

Kirk held up his hand. "Yes. I know those details. Did we not get a new set when we were on Rana IV?"

"I believe your exact words Captain, were "they were full of horse shit" and "it wasn't worth the money". I told you at the time it was unwise to refuse the offer. False documents that stand up to Star Fleet inspections are hard to come by." Spock was taking this whole thing, in Sulu's opinion, far too calmly. Personally, Sulu did not want to go to a rehabilitation centre, nor did he wanted to be blasted out the sky. Though if he had to chose, he would pick the latter. He always thought he would die in space, his body floating with the stars.

"Captain." Chekov looked nervous too. At least he had an excuse: he was a child, not a seasoned traveller like him. "If we send nothing, rule one-seven-five-four allows them to board us."

"Aye, and with we send them obviously false documents they can also board." Sulu pointed out.

"Actually the lack of HIN and FIN also allows them to board - this whole document demand is most likely a ploy to pin more violations on us before they confiscate our ship." Uhura added. Kirk frowned at them, giving them a look that said _you are not helping._

A cold laugh echoed around the bridge and it took Sulu a moment to realise it was the stranger. The man had been so quiet, he'd forgotten he was even on board.

"Just my luck. I don't get five minutes away from the planet before my ride gets stopped." He sounded resigned to his fate - a couple of trips on this ship and he'll realise Captain Kirk did not bow to no win situations. In fact, Sulu suspected he was allergic to them.

"Don't dismiss us yet, Bones." Kirk told the man - and what sort of name was Bones anyway? - pulling a hand through his hair. His mind was whirling through a thousand solutions, and disregarding them just as fast.

"I don't think I can buy us much more time. Captain Pike is demanding they be sent though in less than a minute." Uhura stated, fingers tapping madly at her console.

"I just need a moment. Open a line to Scotty." Kirk ordered, and the woman quickly did so. The crew stared at their Captain, wondering what his plan was. "Mister Scott, do we still have the Corbomite Device?"

"Aye Sir. But it only lasts seconds. We wouldnae be out of sensor range before it wears off."

"Set it up. I'm not planning on running away."

Kirk's grin sent an equal amount of fear and dread through Sulu. It said his Captain had a mad plan that would work amazingly, or send them out in a blaze of glory. He leant forward, eyes finding Sulu's. "I want you to fly towards that ship."

Sulu let out a sharp breath as the Captain's plan fell into place in his mind. That man was mad. "I'll be flying blind too. To get close enough to the ship will be near impossible."

"You're the best pilot I know. Can you, or can you not, land us on that ship?"

Sulu thought it through, aware he didn't actually have a choice. They had no time to think of another plan. He'd done trickier manoeuvres than this, but he always had the sensors guiding him. If he messed up, the explosion would be seen on the planet they just left. The suicidal, insane part of him couldn't wait.

"Aye Sir. I'll give it a go."

"I suggest you succeed, Mister Sulu." Spock said, drily.

"He will." Kirk replied. His confidence bled into the pilot and Sulu sat up straighter.

 "Chekov keep an eye on your station at all times - I need you to tell me if I'm going off course." Sulu felt a rush at being the one giving the orders. It was rare for him.

His console flashed with the data he needed and he scanned it, before forming a visual, the same as the one on the view screen. Their ship had no windows on the bridge, every image they saw was put together by a thousand sensors. Star Fleet ships worked the same. This meant if you had a device that can block all the sensors on a ship, you could become invisible. The hard part is making a device that only blocks your enemy sensors. The cargo ship  _Enterprise_ did not have such a device. They were taking out Star Fleet and themselves at the same time. But they would still have the old data. Theoretically, they should be able to land their ship on the other's hull, and, once everyone's sensors come back online, be too close to detect. Of course a million things could go wrong.

Like the other ship moving.

"Ready Captain." The man nodded, telling Scotty to release the device.

"Ye may want ta hold onta something!" He yelled back.

A second later, a small object came onto their screens. Everyone watched it without blinking as it floated between the two ships. As it was equidistant between them, Kirk shouted:

"Now, Scotty."

The machine shook, before exploding into a wave of purples, blues and greens, littered with dark grey shrapnel. A tsunami and both ships were in its path. They could only watch as it crashed towards them.

"Brace for impact!" Chekov yelled, a millisecond before it hit. Sulu fell to the side, but quickly righted himself. Even as he fell his eyes did not move from his console screen. Before the sensors went out they had detected a slight shift in their position, and was already working out the new route to the enemy ship. Without losing a second, Sulu held his breath, and began to inch his way towards the constitution class star ship.

He was wholly absorbed in his task. He did not see Uhura being thrown off her chair and onto the cool metal floor, the stranger falling on her with his own cry. He quickly stood, a bright red flush staining his cheeks, and telling her, in his best southern gentleman voice, that he was "very sorry ma'am" as he tried to help her up. Uhura just glared, pulling herself out his grip and righting herself on her own.

Nor did he see Kirk stay stiff in his chair, the only one managing to. The usually unflappable Spock clutching the back of his Captain's chair so tightly his knuckles were white as the ship tried to knock him off his steady feet. Next to him, Chekov muttered about "introducing them to Russian inwention called seatbelts".

And, most importantly, he did not hear Scotty's voice through the comm. system, screaming that shrapnel had hit their initial propulsion system.

No, Sulu did not see or hear any of that. His world had narrowed to the screen and his controls. He didn't blink, he barely breathed. His hands knew the controls better than they knew themselves, his mind fast. Slowly, they edged towards the other ship.

If he heard the countdown the First Officer began, he would of yelled at him for distracting him. Putting too much pressure. One wrong move and  _BOOM!_  A single bead of sweat rolled down his forehead.

They were now under the main body of the ship. If the other  _Enterprise_ hadn't moved even a millimetre. Sulu set the thrusters to go off in pulses, slowly spinning the ship one hundred and eighty degrees around.

"Too far! Too far!" The Russian next to him shouted. Gritting his teeth ("Yes, I can see that!"), he switched thrusters, bringing them back around.

"There!" The boy yelled, as they lined up, belly to belly, not a single degree out. This was the hard bit. Too strong, they would be destroyed, too weak, they wouldn't be able to engage the lock.

"C'mon baby." Sulu whispered to his ship, watching as the screen calculated how strong his initial burst needed to be. It took maybe a millisecond for the computer to do it. For Sulu, that was a millisecond too long. He grinned as it flashed up, and he fired the engines, giving the exact burst for the exact time (0.0145 seconds) it stated.

And then they were just drifting. Blind, in the darkness of space, with no idea that their target was even still there anymore. His fingers itched on top of the reverse engines. He watched the numbers on the screen roll down. Only years of practice kept his nerves iron. If they were still on, every sensor in the room would be screaming. Instead, it was as silent as their explosion would be if he got it wrong. So close now. So close...

Now.

He hit the 'brake'. Prayed he did enough to stop a collision.

"Chekov!" He yelled, and the boy hit his own switches. A hum filled the room, increasing in pitch like a promise. It cut off with a hiss.

Chekov collapsed back on his chair, letting out a long sigh of relief. "The lock is connected." He whispered. A wide grin stretched the pilot's face, mirrored by the rest of the crew. Lights flashed on around them indicating the sensors were back online. That was the longest minute and seven seconds of Sulu's life.

"Mister Chekov." Spock said, the sole person not smiling at their success. Instead he was looking at the teen stoically. "You need not whisper. Sound does not travel in space."

The boy flushed, embarrassed. "I know that! I am not  _that_ green!" But for all his complaints, his voice still held a slightly subdued quality.

The Captain laughed, standing up and slapping Sulu on the shoulder. "Well done." Sulu beamed at Kirk's praise.

"Please, don't let me ruin the celebration, but can someone tell me how the devil were safer now?" It was the stranger, and Sulu did not know how it was possible, but the man somehow looked even grumpier than before. The scowl on his face made Sulu want to crawl under the console and hide like he had as a child under his mother's narrowed eyes, and since then he had come face to face with a Klingon warrior and not backed down.

"We cannot be picked up by the sensors this close to the ship, Doctor." Sulu's eyebrows raised at that. He did not doubt Mister Spock, but the man looked as far from a white coat medical professional as possible. But, if they did have a doctor on board, Sulu made a note to visit him as soon as possible - he had a nasty rash from Argelius II that he needed to get checked out. "We are perfectly safe."

"Unless someone looks out the window and sees us clingin' to their side like some kind of parasite!"

"Then let's hope they don't look out the window." The Captain grinned, seemingly unaware of the tension between the two men. He was ignored.

"It is highly unlikely." Spock did not even flinch at having the full force of that glare on him."That is not standard Star Fleet procedure."

"Even if they did," Sulu pointed out quickly, before the man had a chance to explode, "they couldn't fire on us without damaging themselves."

If it was his words that reassured him, or if it was just because he wasn't Mister Spock, Sulu could not tell, but the man did slightly relax at that. However, the scowl remained. He crossed his arms over his chest. "And now we're on their underbelly, how the hell do we plan to get off it?"

"We wait until they go into warp." Kirk said, still looking pleased that his plan worked. However his grin diminished slightly as the new Doctor spluttered at him in disbelief.

"Wait? Your grand plan is to just wait?"

"What would you suggest Doctor?" Spock had a gleam in his eye, and Sulu knew the Vulcan was enjoying this.

"I don't know!" The Doctor cried, bouncing angrily on the balls of his feet. "I just don't like the idea of us standing here and hoping no one spots us!"

"Would you find it more acceptable if you took a seat?" A vein in the Doctor's forehead pulsed. Sulu could only hope Spock would never need to go to sick bay - it is likely he would come out in a body bag.

"Captain," Uhura said, cutting the argument off before the human had a heart attack, "I've hacked into their communications. They can't find us - and their damn angry about it too."

Kirk grinned, stretching himself out. "Chekov, you're on first watch, comm. us if they start going into warp."

"Aye, sir." The Captain turned to Sulu.

"Now, Sulu, I think you deserve a drink."

"Make that two." Sulu replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rana IV, also known as Delta Rana IV, is the planet in the TNG episode The Survivors.  
> Argelius II is the planet in the TOS episode Wolf in the Fold.


	3. Gods, Scotty, and a Happy Russian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Tarod System is close to the Romulan Neutral Zone. In canon, Tarod IX can support human life, and is used as a Federation outpost until destroyed by the Borg in the 24th century. In this story, it is inhabited by the ingeniously named the Tarodians, and are a pre-warp society who have contact with the Federation, and are, of course, very worried that the Romulans might attack them. 
> 
> Sorry I take so long to update. I have no go reason. Maybe it's something to do with the fact I just spent an hour looking at Federation Star Charts and Memory Alpha trying to work out the best planet for them to be travelling towards. I was tempted for it to be Canopus III because dinosaurs, but their is a human colony already in that system.
> 
> EDITED : my inability to spell Uhura's name right is coming back to kick me in the ass, and I've now corrected the first three chapters, as well as correcting other mistakes, but that's the main one really.

Humans often left Spock confused. The mannerisms of the species left him racing to catch up, the rules fluid, with just as many counter rules. Even living among them for as long as he had - longer than any self respecting Vulcan would allow themselves to - he still found their actions and responses to even the most simple situation hard to predict.

Even Jim's chess game. They fought on that board every opportunity they could, and in the vast expanse of space that was quite often. He should know Jim's strategy, and devised his own counter one. But match after match the man would pull something new out, and Spock would once again be left trying to catch up.

The Doctor had been standing outside the sickbay doors for six minutes and twenty three seconds.

It had taken Spock four minutes and forty nine seconds to analyse this behaviour and come up with the most probable answer : he was trying to build his courage up.

Another Vulcan may not be able to spot this. Fear to his father's species was a long forgotten memory. It served no purpose. Kicked your body into a setting that left all logic and reason behind. But Spock knew fear. The one emotion he could not rein in. _Too much red blood_ his father would say, _a failed experiment_ , and Spock would agree.

If the man was trying to build his courage up before stepping into his main place of work, Spock could only conclude this man in front of him was not a doctor. He may of fixed Jim up in an act that was near miraculous (read : something that can be explained logically, but Spock had not found the answer to yet), and Spock was indebted to him for it. Something he needed to rectify.

But if the man was not a doctor, then all Spock knew about him was he was a mystery. Spock despised them. He felt a compulsion to pick at them until they unravelled in his hands. Every unknown meant a chance for the ship - and Jim - to be in danger. He needed to know. His fingers itched. It would be so easy. Push the Doctor against a wall, press the fingers against his meld points and _take_.

His hand turned into a fist, too tight for him to claim it was not an emotional response. He was not his brother.

But each moment he spent in the fake doctor's presence the less he seemed to know about him. Not even a name. With the other two - Mister Chekov and Mister Scott, that is - the name was the key for the rest. Chekov did not use a fake name, rare for a boy in his situation, and looking through the United Communist State database (with a bit of help from Uhura, that woman knew how to hack into government databases like she was a pro) he found all the information he needed easily. And Scott had a tag, and that database was public. After the name, it was easy to find out their intentions, and Spock had deemed both an acceptable risk. And while Chekov's uncharacteristic arguing this morning worried him, the boy had so far been loyal. No, it seemed better for Spock to focus his attention on this unknown.

The Doctor suddenly took a step back, drawing Spock's attention out of his thoughts. If the man was going to run away or do something else, Spock would never know, as he saw the Vulcan and froze. A human would say "a deer caught in the headlights", and while Spock found such metaphors illogical, his time spent with the species had infected his speech patterns. Then the shock turned to a scowl.

"What you lookin' at?" He growled.

"You." While Spock knew the question had been rhetorical, he often found the truth threw humans off balance. Sure enough, the Doctor fumbled for words, the scowl on his face deepening. His hands tightly clasped behind his back, and he _bounced_. Spock had never seen a human do that before.

"Well, stop!" Spock's eyebrow raised.

"Why would I do that? I find you quite fascinating." The man's face began to go red. Embarrassment or more anger?

"I'm not fascinating." He spat out.

"Perhaps you are correct. Interesting may be a better description." The Doctor's eyes flicked up to the sky. Exasperation. Spock was used to seeing that one. He was probably praying to his ancient Gods as well. ("Gods, Sulu? Don't be ridiculous - there's only one." "My ancestors would disagree, Captain.")

"Well I'm not interesting. Or fascinating. Or any other description words you Vulcan's are so fond of." He said the word 'Vulcan' with more venom than he said the word 'Romulan'. Spock's fingers tingled.

"Then how would you describe a Doctor who is afraid of a sickbay?"

Somehow, the man's frown deepened. While Spock could not see the hands behind his back, he would not be surprised to find they were clutched together so tightly they were leaving white marks on his skin. He took a step forward, eyes so dark that if Spock was human, he may of crumbled under them.

"You know nothing about me, _Vulcan._ " Then he turned around and walked straight through the sickbay doors, leaving Spock staring eyebrow raised at the space he had just vacated. For all their strange customs and reactions, sometimes humans were completely predictable. Spock shook his head, moving along. He was wanted in Engineering.

And, if he past the door of the sickbay, and heard the strange not-Doctor inside, muttering "that damn green blooded Vulcan had to help", well, Spock would never mention it.

*

When Scottie says he cannae fix something, it usually means he will pull something out his ass at the last minute. When he says he dunnae have to parts, it usually means he will fix something together even if it's two milk cartons and a some wires. And when he asks the capt'n t' come down t' Engineering Room, well Jim knows he's fucked.

He brought Chekov along. The boy was a genius, and in another life may have been the next Zefram Cochrane, but in this one he was a Russian. Sulu was left on the helm, ready to inform them when the _U.S.S. Enterprise_ was about to make the leap into warp, and begin their own course. For all the helmsman said about needing a drink, he had only taken a sip out of the ale Jim had poured him. Sometimes, the captain wondered if he picked his crew too well.

Spock was waiting for them outside the Engine Room, hands clasped loosely behind his back. Gone were the times Jim wondered how his First Officer knew where he was needed without any communications, now he just accepted it as something that happened.

"We missed you at drinks," Jim commented. While the Vulcan did not consume alcohol, Jim did enjoy his presence, along with the dry wit he brought to every conversation.

"I was working." Chekov shuffled uncomfortably at Spock's words. His First Officer made the boy nervous, not used to his strange ways and hard stares.

"Everything alright with cargo?" He asked, biting his lip. Clearly he thought Spock was going to reprimand him.

"Yes." The Vulcan answered shortly. While Jim knew not to ask more, Chekov was still uncomfortable, and damn curious to boot.

"Then what were you working on?"

The Vulcan turned his dark eyes onto the Russian, and Jim felt the boy shrink. "That, Mister Chekov, is not information you need to know."

The boy's cheeks burned red, and he ducked his head down. "Aye Sir."

"Shall we go in gentlemen? Scotty doesn't like to be kept waiting." A lie, Scotty probably wouldn't notice the wait, however Jim wanted to pull the boy out of his shame.

He pressed a button on the wall, and the thick steel door that separated Engineering from the rest of the ship opened with a moan. He stepped inside, eyes flying past the switches and data ports and wires, trying to find his Engineer.

"Scotty?" He called, as he moved further into the mess.

"Here Capt'n!" A voice called out from somewhere deeper in. The Engine Room was large, just under a third of the whole ship, located at the back. While Jim was a fairly good mechanic - before his Father had died, he instilled in his children that it was suicidal to go into the stars with something you could not fix yourself - he was lost looking at the thousands of blinking panels. Even the ones he could recognise easily, like the matter injectors, were not configured the way he was used to. Jim was struck, not for the first time, that to get rid of Scotty would be to get rid of the _Enterprise_. The man had changed everything to such a degree that it was barely recognisable from the original schematics.

They found the man himself with a head inside a panel, red overalls stained with grease, and when he pulled out, spanner in hand, his face too had similar stains on it. His raven hair was messy, and his eyes bloodshot. He took them in for a second, before throwing his equipment down and weaving his way towards the back of his ship.

They passed the man's bed - a nest of ratty blankets and stained pillows that the man would pass out on when the lack of sleep and too much drink caught up with him. The new Doctor would no doubt have something to say about a man sleeping so close to a warp core, but Jim already knew it was a lost battle. Spock himself had grievances about the man sleeping into the room, due to the blankets being a fire hazard. Scotty's response had been shutting off all the systems, leaving them floating in space without life support, until they agreed to his terms, and Spock had given back his blanket. After that, they agreed it would be better not to fight with the man.

Scotty pulled a bottle out the mess of his bed, taking a long swig, before carrying on his way. He offered it to the others, who all refused except Chekov. However Jim confiscated it before he could take a drink, and handed it back to the engineer, ignoring the boy's complaints. Seventeen was not old enough to drink on the job.

Scotty stopped at the back of the ship, motioning to the wall. "This is it." He sighed, taking another gulp of the liquor. To Jim, it could be any wall in the room, holding any bit of machinery.

"It is?" He asked, his voice clearly saying to explain.

"Aye. The initial propulsion system. Cannae see the coils are all fused? Musta been one hell o' a hit. We lucky she dunnae explode on impact."

Jim looked at Spock, silently asking his First Officer if it was really as bad as the drunk was making out. Scotty was prone to exaggeration. Everything bigger, going to take longer that it really did. Jim once joked that the women must be disappointed with him, but the truth was the only woman in Scotty's life was the _Enterprise_ , and the man was an expert on keeping her happy.

"You cannot fix it?" Spock asked, ignoring Jim. One of his strange eyebrows were raised in a challenge.

"Fix it?" The man scoffed. "If it was that simple you dunnae think I woulda just done that?"

Spock opened his mouth, but Jim cut over before his First Officer could egg him on some more. Having their Engineer knocked out because he tried to start a brawl with the First Officer was not going to solve this problem.

"Do we need to fix it?" He asked instead.

"Need to? Nae. The ship will run just fine without it. However, if you ever want t' escape a planet's gravitational field again..."

"But we'll be able to land on a planet?"

"Aye." Jim nodded. Not as bad as he thought it was.

"Captain, your plan will not work." Or maybe it was. Trust his First Officer to poke holes in a plan he hadn't even voiced yet. "You are thinking we can get the parts to fix the ship at our destination. We will not."

Jim sighed, running his hand through his hair. "So we need to fix this before we get to Tarod. Where can we get the parts?"

"Deep Space Four point Five." Chekov piped up with, voice filled with excitement.

DS4.5 was a left over space station from some long since extinct civilisation. It had been taken over by those who could not go to conventional star bases to get their ships fixed, as well as those who needed to get their hands on less than legal goods.

"Spock?" Jim asked, trusting the other man's opinion. After a moment, he nodded.

"It will have the parts we need, and it is only twelve point five seven hours off course. A logical choice."

Jim's heart sunk at the time it would take. They were already stuck under one delay, and he would rather not have another one. While the Tarodians had not given them a date to arrive, the sooner the better. The last thing they wanted was to meet any Romulans, or, worse, anymore Federation vessels.             

Chekov grinned, strangely eager. "I will put new coordinates in computer now!"

He hurried off, and Jim watched him go with a bemused smile on his face. He had not even had time to confirm the plan of action, and said so to the remaining men.

"Aye. The lad looked as excited as a dog with a stolen ham."

Jim turned to Spock. "I suppose you know why he's so eager."

His First Officer nodded his head forward. "Correct, Jim."

"And I suppose you won't be telling us why."

"Correct again, Jim."

Jim could of sworn the Vulcan was trying not to smile.        


	4. Swords, Mudd and a Guilty Predatel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I woke up to a great comment this morning which encouraged me to keep writing this, so have some Chekov mystery, Harcourt Fenton Mudd, and Uhura's name spelled right.  
> My laptop is like the Search for Spock : it had all the components to work but it just doesn't. AKA, my computer overheated about three times when I was writing this chapter out.

If the people of Russia still believed in God, Chekov would say He was looking down on him. After he all but ran from the engine room to navigation, barely hearing let alone replying to Sulu's demands of why he was setting a new course into the computers, he'd then gone to his room and to the communicator which was hidden in his drawer. He pulled down his bed and sat on it, scrolling through his contacts until he found one on Deep Space Four point Five. To set up a deal only took minutes. He had truly thought he was screwed when the captain had ordered them to leave the planet early, part of him wishing he had thought of  fusing the engine coils himself. Of course, Chekov needed this ship, or, more accurately, he needed the credits working on this ship provided. Being thrown out of an air lock by James T. Kirk was a risk the boy didn't dare take.

Of course, there was still one problem : they were stuck on the underbelly of a Federation star ship. And not just any, but the flag ship itself. Before leaving Russia Chekov had studied Star Fleet in great depth. No one had questioned it - to know one's enemy was encouraged, and there was not a bigger enemy to their way of life than the Federation. Capitalistic pigs exploiting all those they see as lower than them, blocking off their planet from their allies in the struggle. It made Chekov feel sick that he had joined them, but what choice did he have? He needed what the Federation was withholding from his people, forcing him to join the devil for the good of his family.

He was meant to be resting when Sulu announced the ship above them was going into warp. He had raced to the bridge but was too slow to see it depart, the Federation ship already out of sensor range and them at Warp Four - or what Chekov assumed was Warp Four from the angry warning of the Scotsman through the comm. which Uhura quickly silenced.  

"I miss all fun?" Chekov complained, flopping into his bridge chair. Quickly he checked the navigation system, working out the ETA. They had been under that ship for fourteen hours.

Sulu snorted. "I wouldn't call it fun. A cargo ship didn't take to be threatened too well and decided to run." That could of all to easily been them if their captain was not so fast thinking.

"They don't stand a chance." Uhura said, dark eyes twinkling making Chekov shift uncomfortably in his seat. From the grin Sulu shot him it was clear the rest of the crew still thought it was to do with sexual attraction. And while he had eyes, and was a teenage boy (and if he fantasised about her in his quarters and the amount of porn with black girls he downloaded had increased, only he knew) that was not why he squirmed. No, he was terrified of the woman. If anyone was going to find out the real reason he left Russia, she would, always checking the communications going in and out the ship. His work was encoded, but Uhura was _good_. In fact, she might already know, biding her time until she can use it against him. The thought made him more sick than anything the Federation had done.

"Better them than us." Chekov managed to choke out. She shot him a smile and he couldn't tell if it was one of relief or if it said _I've got you now_.

"Aye." Sulu said, standing up and stretching. His spine clicked loudly. "Well if you're up you may as well have the wheel. I want to catch some shut eye before Scotty has us running around in hostile territory looking for engine parts."

"I would hardly call a space station hostile territory." Uhura laughed.

"That's because you're too beautiful to fight. Some of us can only rely on our swords." That was not a poor euphemism, Sulu really did carry a sword where ever he went, and he was damn good using it too. Of course in a century where everyone had high powered energy weapons it was basically useless, but when Chekov pointed out how futile it was to bring a sword to a gun fight the man had grinned and said it was in fact everyone else bringing guns to a sword fight. The young Russian suspected the man really carried it to fit his image as a swashbuckling pirate.

Sulu moved to the door and Chekov tensed, unwilling to be left alone with Uhura. He tried to look calm, even though the crew often thinking his nervousness was 'cute', but the woman slipped off her chair too, walking delicately towards her brother.

"I'll take a nap too. I'm exhausted after monitoring all those communications." As she spoke, she looked at Chekov, but the boy did not see, his gaze fixed firmly on the navigation screen.

"See you in a couple of hours." Sulu called, and Chekov acknowledged it was a simple "bye".

The navigation system was still set for DS4.5. He counted to a hundred in his head, then back down, repeating the practice in standard. Once sure neither would come back he pulled his communications radio from his pocket. Quickly he typed out a message giving an ETA to his supplier. It would take a fair amount of time for the message to get to the station, the distance in space meaning hours could go by before an acknowledgment was sent back. He slipped it back into his pocket on silent - no use it going off and people getting suspicious of who he was contacting. His worry was unwarranted, nobody entered the room until Chekov announced through the ships comm. they were leaving warp. Then, suddenly, the bridge was crowded with people missing only the strange new doctor and the equally strange but seasoned engineer. The latter was hardly a surprise, Chekov could count the number of times he'd seen Scotty out of his engine room on his fingers.

Chekov on his own could of docked the ship in the station. In fact, it may of been easier to do so without the rest of the crew getting in his way. He had to glare down Sulu to let him pilot them into the port. 

"It is like you do not trust me!" The Russian cried. "I can fly any ship as well as you, if only you let me!"

"Only because you had a damn good teacher." Sulu reminded, but backed down. His eyes though stayed glued to the younger boy's hands, ready to jump in and take over if he was more than a millimetre out. Chekov tried to comfort himself by telling himself that the man would do this to anyone in the room. It was not because Sulu did not trust him. Then again, he shouldn't be trusted.

They docked without incident, Sulu letting out a sigh of relief that his ship survived another day. Barely waiting for the clamps to hiss into place, Chekov jumped up. He got only a few steps before the cold voice of the first officer stopped him.

"Where are you going, Mister Chekov?"

"I thought - " he turned to the captain, knowing he will find no mercy or compassion in the Vulcan. "I thought, seeing as we left planet early, I - we - could visit space station, nyet?"

"You thought incorrectly." Spock stated, but Kirk held up his hand.

"Now Mister Spock, let them have their fun. A happy crew is one that doesn't mutiny."

One would be mad to mutiny against Kirk, for a pirate captain he was fair and loyal, more than happy to give his crew a decent share of the profits. Chekov was going onto that station whatever, but he wanted a ship to come back to afterwards. And, he realised suddenly, he wanted it to be the _Enterprise_. At some point it had ceased to be a way of making money, and the metal walls of the ship become a home away from home, these people had become friends. It would make it harder when he had to leave. He was still a Russian even if the outside world was staining him.

Spock turned to the captain, looking as annoyed as a Vulcan could, ready to try and change the captain's mind. "That would not be a logical move captain. We cannot afford to lose more time."

"And we won't. It'll take - how long will take us to get everything?" As he asked, Spock pulled out Scotty's shopping list, sloppily written on what looked like toilet roll - an impressive feat in itself seeing as toilet roll stopped being used in the twenty second century, not to mention how he managed to find a pen. The fact Spock was able to read the Scotsman's handwritten was the biggest mystery though. Chekov did not need to see the list to know the first item on it would be booze.

"It will take us two hours and sixteen minutes to acquire all the necessary parts."

Kirk nodded. "Great. Chekov, Uhura, Sulu, you've got until seventeen hundred hours ship time."

Spock frowned. "Captain, I said two hours and sixteen minutes. Seventeen hundred hours is three hours and four minutes away."

"We may get delayed. Tricky salesman, beautiful girls, a pick pock." Kirk's eyes shone at the thought of all the trouble he could get into.

"I have already calculated and added in possible delays to the original time."

"But please sir." Chekov implored. "It is rare for us to have shore leave. Too often only work." Spock was one of the only creatures in existence immune to Chekov's puppy dog eyes. Kirk was not. The captain slapped the Vulcan's shoulder - an action nobody else would dare to do - a wide grin on his face.

"See Spock. An overworked crew is dangerous."

While he may be immune to Chekov, the Vulcan was not immune to Kirk, and he gave in, head held high like he thought they were better than this. "You have until sixteen hundred hours."

The boy did not barter for more time, but rather took it gracefully, fleeing before Spock could knock even more time off. He needed to be more subtle, he knew. No doubt the crew was already commenting on his odd behaviour. But it had been too long.

Deep Space Four point Five was built by an ancient civilization, long since extinct. Star Fleet had listed it, declaring no changes to be done. They had never found any other architecture like it, on a planet or another space station. Leading archaeologists believed the species had evolved in a different galaxy, these place just a research station. However the Federation had more pressing worries than relics, and when criminals began to move in to its walls, they did not waste time or resources they did not have to evacuate it.

This was not the first time Chekov had been on the station - anyone who was even slightly below the law always ended up on it, like it was a siren calling to the underbelly of the Federation - he had forgotten what a strange place it was. It was nothing like the architecture at home, a mix and match of classic Russian, Asian and Venezuelan, but nor was it completely alien.

Some walls were painted bright colours, a sign of Federation conquering, while others were still the original dull silver of a metal Chekov could not recognise. The ceilings were low, metal beams holding the slopping walls apart, giving the sense that they were going to collapse any minute. There were no doors, but instead low holes that Chekov had to stoop to get through, and no windows at all, like whoever built it didn't want to be reminded of the vacuum of space being held back by only a sheet of metal.  Signs were in different Federation languages while others in a strange text that hurt to look at for too long.

And everywhere were people. Orion slave girls clad only in chains next to Makusians covered from head to foot in religious robes. Rigelians moved in groups while small Catullan children ran about playing. A Caitian female, barefoot with a deadly grin on her face leant in a robe covered arch. She caught his eye and beckoned him to her with a clawed finger. Chekov ignored her, not here for pleasure.

On a station like this dodgy deals were not done in dark corridors but rather in the open. No law to hide from, and passersby would not help if an agreement turned sour. The address his contact gave him - Ikiviahl, an Andorian - was a bar. Adred's, owned by a Ferengi of all things. Chekov loathed them - which was no doubt why Ikiviahl had suggested this place, to keep him off his peak game. They were everything Russia fought against, even more so than the Federation, but they often worked alone, with a lack of uniform force behind them. They left Russia alone as long as Russia left them alone in return.  

It did not take long to find the place. He looked around as he stepped in, but could not see any blue skin. Nervous, as he always is before a deal, he moved to the bar, trying his best to avoid eye contact with the other customers. He ordered a double shot (in Russia it would be a normal sized shot, but the rest of the universe was weak compared to them) of vodka from Adred himself to calm his racing heart. It was cheap stuff, tasting of paint stripper and burning as it went down, nothing like back home, but it gave him the courage he so sorely needed. He brought another one - so overpriced that as bad quality as it was he couldn't afford the good stuff.

"I am looking for Ikiviahl." He told the Ferengi. The alien's eyes flicked to a table behind him, and Chekov followed his gaze. It held not an Andorian, but an overweight human, sporting a ridiculous handlebar moustache.

"Him." The Ferengi said, and Chekov narrowed his eyes at the _vyrodok_. He did not have time for his tricks.

"Ikiviahl is an Andorian."

The Ferengi shook his head. "You want him, hyoo-mahn. Trust me, I do not give away free advice often."

"Free?" Chekov scoffed. "I brought two of your overpriced vodka." Adred only grinned showing off his sharp pointed teeth before moving onto his next customer to swindle more money out of them. Chekov slammed his now empty shot glass back down, taking a deep breath. Bringing up a veneer of confidence he'd learnt from Captain Kirk himself he strolled up to the table.

He took a seat across from the human, whose face broke into a fake smile so wide it could barely fit on his face. Before his bottom even touched the chair a light hand touched his shoulder. A way of keeping him in place, but it was too delicate to physically stop him. Twisting his neck around - a mistake perhaps, as the one he was already facing would be calling all the shots - he looked at the owner of it.

His heart stopped. Deep blue eyes calling to him. Long blonde hair flowing over her shoulders. Ample bosom and an hour glass figure easily seen in her low cut revealing dress. A Russian, she had to be, no other woman could be so beautiful than one from his home planet. She was the kind of woman you could take home to his parents, who would work beside him on the land and love him only second to the state and their children. For that moment, she was his whole world. She smiled, her lips perfectly shaped and kissable. He wanted to lean forward and join them to his own. His mouth was dry, palms sweaty.

"I - I - " he stuttered, unable to get a single syllable out, not even sure what he would say if he could. She bent down, lips against his ear, her warm breath spreading goose bumps where ever it touched and sending shivers down his spine. She was so beautiful it hurt.

"Pay attention to Harry, Mister Chekov." He didn't understand her words, they were just music. He wanted her to say his name again. Scream it. He could see her under him, hands pressing him close to her smooth, flawless body, _begging_ his name in short panting breaths. She sighed, and even that was beautiful. Put her hands on either side of his face and physically manipulated it so he was looking at the stranger.

His heart could beat again, but still it rang hollow without her in his sight.

"Lovely isn't she, Pavel? I can call you Pavel?"

The mocking tone of the man brought him back from whatever daze she had put him under, and he flushed with embarrassment for being so weak. He had a job to do and he was acting like a child. A woman as fine as the one behind him would not want a kid, but a true man. "Very lovely." He managed to choke out.

"Of course, we are not here to discuss Eve."

Chekov sat up straight, keeping his eyes locked on the man in front of him, terrified if he was to look away he would see Eve again and be lost in her beauty. He once thought Uhura was a woman, now he knew what a real one looked like. He shook his head, clenched his hands into fists and used the pain of his nails digging into his skin to ground him.

"Where is Ikiviahl? My business is with him." He was proud of how strong his voice came out. The man - Harry, Eve, beautiful perfect Eve, had called him - just laughed, leaning back on his chair, his hands linked across his bulging stomach. He was clearly a man who cheated and lied and stole, who hadn't done a honest day's work in his life. There was no room for men like this in Russia and too much room, it seemed, for them in the rest of the galaxy.

"Ikiviahl is detained. A shame. I cannot abide the thought of a paying customer going without."

It did not matter to Chekov which _vyrodok_ he dealt with, as long as he got the goods. He leant forward, voice low though it did not need to be. "You have it?"

"Harcourt Fenton Mudd never lets a customer down." His eyes twinkled as he said it, a well practiced lie, but Chekov didn't have time to search out another seller who would no doubt be just as corrupted.

Mudd - and Chekov could not help but think the name suited him - pulled a small clear bag out his pocket. He could see the white powder inside. He reached for it, and Mudd let him take it, knowing Chekov would not take the deal if he could not check the purity of the drug. His tricorder - an old thing he had taken from home and modified - confirmed it was what he needed.

"You have whole six month supply?" He asked, eagerly. Mudd lifted up a box from under the table, opening it away from himself so the boy could see the contraband inside. Unable to help himself upon seeing it, he leaned forward. Eve's grip tightened on his shoulder, and Chekov realised as her sharp nails dug into his shoulder she was stronger than she looked. Mudd tutted, closing the box and moving it close to himself again.

"I am not fool." Chekov complained. "If I run off with it, nobody would be willing to sell to me again."

Mudd nodded, mock sadness etched into every line of his body. "And you'll need to keep buying it for such a long time. I truly am sorry."

"You are no sorry. You are business man."

Mudd grinned, the facade melting away quickly the moment he realised it wouldn't play in his favour with the Russian. "And I hope I'll be doing business with you for years to come."

He raised his glass, frowning when he noticed Chekov did not have one. With a shrug, he took a drink anyway.

"The price?" The Russian asked.

"Two thousand credits."

Chekov's face paled. "Ikiviahl said only one thousand for six month."

Mudd shrugged. "Ikiviahl is not here."

"I cannot afford." Chekov said, slowly. This could not be happening.

"A shame." Mudd clearly didn't care what this drug meant. Chekov wanted to attack him, but the hand on his shoulder was so tight it was drawing blood. Mudd made a point of slowing standing, and Chekov couldn't let him go. He knew that is exactly what the man wanted, but he had no choice.

"Please, Mister Mudd, please." He did not like to beg, to lower himself to that level. He hated the Federation and the monsters they grew. _From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs_ he was taught as a child, but the Federation did not care for their needs, nor the suffering that was so prevalent the moment you left the core systems.

"I can't do it for any cheaper." Mudd shrugged, lifting the briefcase with everything Chekov needed up. He slumped. Failure was not an option, but how in the name of the motherland was he to get a thousand more credits? The idea came to him like a lightning bolt. He couldn't. He _had_ to.

"I work on ship transporting weapons. More than enough to cover price."

Eyes lighting up, Mudd sat back down. "Go on."

Chekov bit his lip. He was betraying the _Enterprise_ crew. They had been good to him, but this was more important than a thousand Federation citizens. "I can disable shield, you beam good aboard, my crew never know my role."

"Sounds risky." Chekov shook his head.

"Very safe." He assured. Mudd made a point of thinking it over, leaving Chekov sitting on the edge of his chair, tension in every muscle.  

"The ship's name?" Mudd finally asked just as the boy thought he would pass out from the stress.

"The _Enterprise_."

Mudd smiled so wide it looked like his face would split at the edges. Chekov's gut twisted as the man spoke with pure joy in his voice. "You work for Kirk? The price of me getting one up on that scheming pretty boy is more than enough payment. Those weapons are just going to be the icing on an already delicious cake." Personally, Chekov thought the man ate enough cake already, but wisely kept his mouth shut. Mudd clicked his fingers. "Eve."

A sharp jab in his neck caused Chekov to let out a very undignified squawk.

"A tracker and comm." Mudd explained. "I would hate for you to get cold feet before the deal is over."

The teen lifted his hand up to rub at his neck, feeling the slight bump of the technology under his skin. "Russians do not get 'cold feet'. You give drug now?" Mudd thought it over, pulling at the ends of his mustache before lifting the briefcase back onto the table and opening it. He pulled out three bags of the white drug, placing it on the table.

"A two month supply as a sign of my good faith. The rest will be given after the exchange." He waved his hands away from his body in a shooing motion. "Now leave, I have a revenge to plan."

Chekov nodded, ignoring his gut that screamed at him that he was a _predatel_ even though the crew was not his people. He slipped the bags into his pocket, and stood, Eve letting him go. As he left the bar he could not help but feel he left his soul back at that table.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deep Space Four point Five does not exist in canon, and is not actually between DS4 and DS5 but rather DS4 and DSK-7 close to the neutral zone, but we never really getting to see where the criminals hang out in the original series so I get to play around with names and places a bit.  
> Also if you haven't already worked out The United Communist State is a mix of all countries that are currently, or historically, communist. Sometime after the Sino-Western troubles (they were before WWIII, and non-canon) these countries banded together to form a new, communist society in out of space.  
> Makusians are from Makus III and are seen as the tall robed figures in the TOS episode Journey to Babel. Catullan are the crazy eyebrow aliens from the TOS episode The Way To Eden. And the Caitians are, of course, the cat people, most famous for M'Ress in TAS.  
> Adred is the grandfather of Quark and Rom. I like to think running a bar is in the family blood.  
> Vyrodok means degenerate and Predatel means traitor and was used by politicians and journalists in the USSR, especially during the Stalin years.


	5. Booze, Scotland, and Code Tango

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's pretty short and a lot of it written on less four hours sleep after work. Also the amount of the enterprise comm system whump is getting out of hand.   
> Looked at my plan for this and realised everyone has deep dark secrets or plots in the story and Sulu is just there like I really love flying a spaceship and sword fighting, a warning for all you Sulu lovers out there. I'm gonna give him a greenhouse to make up for it. And Gertrude.

Scotty had amazing luck with anything that had an engine or a circuit board. Something more than skill, and that couldn't be taught in a textbook or in a lesson. Sadly that luck, that certain something that meant things went his way, did not stretch to having  a damn drink.

It had taken a hours to fix the initial propulsion engines, even longer than he predicted as the Captain refused to shut of the warp drive as he worked, insisting they had lost enough time already. He'd only just settled down on his bed, bottle of scotch in his hand with no glass in sight when his PADD exploded.

It was probably his fault. Much like a baby had a compulsion to put everything in its mouth to understand the world around them, an engineer had to take everything apart. And, while he would be the first to declare his brilliance, he was aware he may of put it back together better than the original manufactures could of ever dreamed and the components simply couldn't handle the extra strain.

The explosion had not been too bad - and could of been completely avoided had Scotty not decided the fuse was a waste of space - a bit of plastic from the casing had come flying off, hitting him across the forehead before disappearing among the wires and machinery on the floor. Hard enough, he realised as red dripped over his vision, to bleed. If he had been closer, it might of been dangerous rather than an annoying inconvenience. But Scotty had amazing luck with technology.

The red kept dripping, showing no signs of stopping, and Scotty decided it would be best to go to sick bay, if only so his hyperspanners don't get covered in blood. He took a swig out of his bottle before pulling himself up, swaying for a second. One last shot and he was on his way. As he walked (stumbled) through the ship's hallways he wondered who the new doctor was. Scotty hoped he was more fun than the last one; he'd been unable to crack even the smallest smile, just ran the regenerator over your skin and sent you on your way. Didn't even offer any of the good stuff to ease the pain. Scotty could tell he was a bad one, warned the others even, not that they listened to the man who kept them chugging through space, and it wasn't a surprise when he disappeared with all the ship's medical supplies in his duffle. Surely whoever Jim had managed to scrounge up had to be better than him.

He stumbled into sickbay, collapsing on the medical bed. If you could call a cheap foldable camp bed with a PADD strapped to it for vitals medical. For a doctor the man inside seemed shocked that someone came into his sickbay covered in blood. He just gaped for a second.

"Think I'll live, doc?" Scotty finally asked when the staring got too much. The man jumped, a scowl taking over his features.

"Of course you'll live." He snapped, moving forward and lifting Scotty's head up to the light. The man, he decided as he found himself looking up his nose, was a teuchter doctor. Scotty had spent years bouncing from backwater agricultural and mining planets before settling down on the _Enterprise_. They all had one. No degrees or school, just a no nonsense attitude and pure hands on experience. Scotty would trust one of them more than any 'real' doctor - even if they had a slight tendency to chop of limbs.  

The doctor released his head, going to the cupboards along the back and hunting around in them. A moment later - after much cursing and banging of doors - he turned back around with a dermal regenerator in one hand and a glass full of blue liquid in the other.

"Drink this, it'll make you feel better." Scotty eyed it wearily.

"Nd what concoction is that then?"

"Vulcan Ale." The doctor replied, face still in that same scowl. Scotty took it, carefully sniffing it. Sure enough, it smelt like booze. He downed it in one. Vulcan Ale was the weaker, cheaper version of Romulan Ale. The kind you can get over the border for a couple of bawbee and you don't run the risk of being arrested for being a traitor. Of course, it didn't quite hit the spot like the real deal.

"Yer my kind of doctor." He held the glass back out. "Some more won't go amiss." The doctor rolled his eyes but did dutifully pour another glass out. Oh he was so much better than the last one. No lectures about his liver when all Scotty really wanted was to take the edge off. Yes, he could see them becoming fast friends.

The man lifted the regenerator towards him and Scotty suddenly wondered how much of a teuchter this doctor was. "Yer holding the regenerator the wrong way round."

The doctor's jaw locked, and if looks could kill Scotty would be leaving this room in a body bag. Actually there was still a good chance that would happen. "I _know_ that." The man snapped, flushing red and flipping the tool around. "Will ya just close your eyes and think of England?"

"England?" The engineer scoffed, all worries of his medical care replaced by a rather more important problem. "And why the hell would I want to think of that shite place full of stuck up pricks? Now Scotland. That's a place one would want to think about. Full of fine people. Me myself comes from -"

"I'm done."

Scotty blinked, a frown on his face, rant cut short. He rubbed at his head and sure enough the injury was gone. "That was quick."

"I had motivation," was his bone dry drawl. "Now, what about your tag?"

Scotty blinked once again. This man was full of surprises. Then just as quickly the shock morphed into anger, his hand coming protectively up to shield his left forearm. There was not even a blemish on the skin where the tag was drilled deep into the bone, but it was impossible to remove without Scotty foregoing his limb. And, even if he was willing to lose an arm, he definitely wasn't willing to lose his tag. Some things were best locked away.

How could the man even know about it though? They said he was a free man, had they changed their mind? Come back to drag him kicking and screaming? Scotty shook that thought away. Cursed himself for being so ridiculous. Spock probably told him. The bastard. No doubt had some logical reason said in that smug voice.

"What about it?" Scotty's voice came out in a near snarl. The doctor stood up straight, a glint in his eye, more comfortable facing an angry Scotsman than a bleeding one.

"Do you want me to remove it?" He said it slowly, like he thought Scotty was a div.

"Ye can't." The doctor shook his head.

"Won't be too hard."

"No. I mean - " Scotty cut off. Something had changed. He knew this ship better than his own hands. Knew it's moods and whims and cries. Could fix her with his eyes closed - or more likely, seeing double. And it shouldn't sound like that. A buzz missing, the orchestra of the ship down an instrument. He jumped up off the bed, the doctor stumbling backwards to get out the way, hands flying away, eyes wild, but Scotty barely cast him a second glance.

"My shields!" He shouted, as he set off in a run. His footsteps echoed down the corridors as he charged through, barely giving the automatic doors times to open. It took him less than a minute to get through engineering, the doctor hot on his heels, still wielding his regenerator like he thought Scotty was having a mental break.

Taking the engine room at a speed most men would not dare, the likelihood of any other man tripping and breaking their neck high, he skidded to his shield generator, not even slowing down as he pounced on the person messing around with them.

They crashed to the floor in a tumble, Scotty's heavier weight and larger frame giving him the advantage as they grabbled. He held the boy - Chekov, and what did the boy think he was playing at? - against the floor, delivering a punch square to his face. The kid's nose crunched satisfyingly under his knuckle. He pulled his fist out to dish out another - nobody touched his shields and got away with it - but the doctor made a grab for his elbow. Scotty changed directions, and it made contact with the man's stomach. The man doubled over, stumbling backwards with a cry. Scotty turned back to the boy looking up at him with fear in his eyes.

"Ye better have a good reason for this laddie." Chekov nodded, opened his mouth, but before a sound could utter a high pitched wail filled the room. Nails of a chalk board. Scotty winced, hands coming up to cover his ears. If the boy had any sense he would use this moment to escape, but Chekov too was distracted by the sound, head twisting to press his left ear against the floor like it would help block the screeching out.

"Code Tango." Uhura's voice came through the COMM system before the attempt to cut off their system succeeded, leaving them cut off from the bridge. Scotty glared at the boy under him.

"What did yer do, lad?" He snarled, debating whether to give him another wallap before deciding the shields were more important. He pushed himself up, hurrying over to his shields and began madly redirecting the energy flow.

"What's code Tango?" The doctor asked, but Scotty ignored him, cursing under his breath as his work around only let out sparks. Out of the corner of his eye the engineer saw him turn to the one other person who could give him answers. "Kid, what the hell is going on?"

Chekov, still lying on the floor, blood splattered on his face, froze. "I do n-not know, sir."

The doctor's eyebrow raised, and he snorted. "Bullshit."

The shields generator stuttered, lights blinking on and off then restarting, the hum of the generator once again filling the air. Scotty let out a relieved sigh, before turning to the traitor on the floor.

"Aye lad, you better start speaking or it isn't going to be pretty." Everything, Scotty learnt when he first stepped out of his home country, sounded scarier when spoken by an old Aberdeen pub crawler. Of course the hyperspanner he was wielding like a club probably helped as well. Chekov somehow managed to get even paler.

"This not meant to happen." He squeaked out, accent getting thicker in his panic. "The deal - "

"Deal?" Scotty hissed, voice lowered another dangerous octave. The doctor waved his hand, not yet understanding how precious this ship was.

"Let the boy speak." Chekov looked at the doctor gracefully, until he saw the frown still deep on the man's face and it quickly turned back to fear.

"I made deal with man. Said if I turn off shield, he beam off cargo. I do not know about rest. Code Tango was not a part of plan."

Anger bubbled under the surface of Scotty's skin. The commie sold them out. He would kill the boy himself if the pleasure didn't fall to the captain.

"What's code Tango?" The doctor asked once again, voice impatient at being out the loop.

"It means unknown personal have boarded." Scotty replied. The doctor froze, a look of panic crossing his face. Running from someone then, and worried they caught up.

"Who?" He snarled at Chekov. The boy swallowed.

"Mudd." The doctor looked relieved, but all Scotty felt was his stomach sinking. Of all the people the boy could of sold them out to it was _Mudd_. "I did not - "

Scotty raised his spanner like a promise. "I'll keep yer mouth shut, laddie." The boy, wisely, shut his mouth.

The doctor began to pace. "Whose this Mudd person?"

"Scum. Lowlife. Dobber. 'Nd he has one big grudge against our captain."

"How big?"

"It ain't goin' t' be pretty." The man sighed, pulling his hand through his hair.

"Is this ship's luck always this rotten?" He muttered, before raising his voice. "We need a plan."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teuchter is the scots equivalent of hick and bawbee is a half penny, but in this story it just means credits. Dobber is a dickhead. Part of me wanted to make Scotty full on scots slang, but also I want people to not quit on the story fur thay cannae ken whit he's sayin.  
> Vulcan Ale is not canon, but the common people who don't have high contacts in Starfleet should have an equivalent goddamnit.


End file.
